


Imitation = Flattery

by NeonDaisies



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonDaisies/pseuds/NeonDaisies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, hey, Potts. Did you do something different to your hair or am I still drunk? I like it, so if it turns out I’m still intoxicated, I’m going to need you to figure out what I think you look like, and then change your hair accordingly. That good?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imitation = Flattery

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a 100 drabble challenge I never finished. Pre-IM to just pre-IM2.

It’s not a conscious thing on Tony’s part. Engineering takes planning, creation just happens. Much of what he does is a blend of planning and inspiration drawn from…anything. Archimedes’ lever, DaVinci’s war machines, the chandelier that hangs over his mother’s dining room table, the curves of a classic sports car, the arc of a pop fly, the rate at which the wake left by a naval destroyer dissipates…

The first things Tony designs after his parents die are…toys. Irrelevant playthings that he discards almost as soon as he finishes them. He stalls out on his progress with his first antonymous robot, leaving Dummy frozen in time, development halted at the state it’d been in when Tony had gotten the news.

Obadiah is the one to pull Tony out of his stupor. He doesn’t lecture about the mess, the evidence of underage drinking and recreational drugs, or the several different stereos blasting several different bands from multiple areas of the house. He just drops in one afternoon with a couple of pizzas, a six pack of craft-brewed beer, and a faulty algorithm for predicting the correct fuel to weight ratio for a new warhead meant to carry a smaller payload while delivering a greater blast radius.

Tony sees through it. He’s…parentless, not stupid. He eats the pizza, drinks the beer, and makes no promises.

A week later Tony delivers the corrected equations to Obie along with schematics that not only improved several structural problems he’d foreseen, but change the shape of the missile entirely.

He doesn’t see the schematics the way Obadiah sees them. Doesn’t see the way the missile borrowed lines and forms from the B-29 bombers Howard Stark had rolled out of his plants in an effort to bring WWII to an end. The source of Tony’s influence was as clear as fingerprints pressed into the fins and nose of the missile.

Obadiah sees, recognizes, and makes a rapid decision that will lessen an influence that was clearly stronger than he’d realized.

“I’ve been thinking, Tony, that what you need is a change in scenery. We’re refitting the site outside LA for this new line. Or at least we were.” He waves the new plans around like a white flag. “Maybe you should come out in case you have any more…insights.”

Tony shrugs. Yeah, he feels a little like he’s living in a mausoleum, which is the reason behind all the stereos. And people he barely knows keep dropping by with casseroles he’s not going to eat and to express condolences when he’s the least prepared for them…

Well, a change in scenery isn’t the worst idea he’s ever heard.

 

+

 

Virginia Potts graduates from Fresno State with a bachelors in International Business studies and a masters in Corporate Accounting. Her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – disappears the day after graduation, taking with him the job she’d applied and interviewed for because she was passionate about it and for which _he’d_ done the same because he’d wanted to “cover his bases.” Her roommates are all packed up to return to their hometowns, leaving her responsible for a rent she’ll no longer be able to pay on her own.

Her first job after college is as a receptionist for a small law office. She sticks around long enough to whip their filing system into shape and realize that this job isn’t going to lead anywhere (a conclusion she comes to after observing and enduring her boss’s attitude). Even if it did pay the bills, Virginia has things she wanted to do with her life she would never accomplish if she stayed here.

She quits, moves into an attic room in a historic house that has great light (and a lingering scent of mothballs that she can’t dispel no matter what she tries), and visits the nearest hair salon. It’s time to get rid of the last vestiges of the college student she’d been. She colors her hair back to a strawberry blond from the platinum hue she’d been sporting, chops off six inches, and heavily layers what’s left.

Two weeks later, she gets a job down in LA with a company called Stark Industries as a junior accountant. She spends a lot of time processing receipts, invoices, and traveling expenses. It may not be her dream job, but at least it has the chance for advancement.

It’s a start.

 

+

 

Tony is _not_ having a good day. Actually he’s not having the best month, but today he’s hung over, which compounds his other problems. Problems Obie has just finished pointing out in his roundabout, overly jovial way.

“Look, it’s no big deal, Obie. You and I know I’m behind schedule, but to everyone else I’m several months ahead. And really, isn’t perception more important than reality?”

“You mean like the perception that your last two assistants have quit because of professional differences?” Obadiah carries his empty tumbler over to the sideboard. “Just a thought, son, but maybe you should stop hiring _personal_ assistants and look for an impersonal one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony’s heard a variation of this talk a million times before. And certainly conducting affairs with his assistants has been less than successful to date. They all get possessive towards the end and start objecting when they find out about the other women. Usually the ones they find in his bed.

Obie leaves, and Tony closes the door after him, flopping down on the sofa in the corner of his office. _God_ , his head hurts. He closes his eyes, hoping that a nap will make the worst of the hangover disappear…

An undetermined amount of time later, Tony wakes up, his headache suddenly raging. Outside his office, there is a woman – a loud, strident woman – arguably having a worse day than he is.

And who is determined to protest it. At ear shattering levels.

Tony groans and rolls off the sofa. He yanks his tie loose (looser), runs a hand through his hair, and toes off his shoes. Marginally more comfortable, he goes to his office doors and throws them open.

A trio of people – two security guards and a pretty redhead with _fantastic_ legs – pause. Momentarily, on the part of the redhead. She brushes past the two guards and his scandalized secretary and heads straight towards him. She’s pissed. He finds her attitude pretty ballsy.

He likes it.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah. What’s _your_ name, beau–”

“You need to see this.”

The way she ignores his charm is new, fresh. Intriguing. The way she shoves a handful of paper under his nose is less so.

“Mr. Stark?”

He waves down the security guards. “Stand down. I got this.” The woman is already pushing past him into his office. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Ms…?”

“Potts.” She gives him the name grudgingly.

“Potts. Lovely. Is there a first name to go with that?”

“Mr. Stark, I’ve already been fired over this, so I’ve moved beyond the polite chit-chat phase. Could you please just look at these figures?”

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve had an exciting day.” Tony eases into the chair behind his desk and tries to get his eyes to focus.

“You have no idea.” She mutters something about job hunting underneath her breath.

Tony glances at her, amused. She’s not at all intimidated, or, apparently, infatuated. It’s novel.

Eyes finally working in cooperation, Tony looks over the sheet of figures in front of him. They look familiar. He frowns, flips to the first page. They’re for the project he’s ahead/behind on. He flips back to the page he’d originally been handed. Flips to the last page. And back.

“This is wrong.”

“That’s what I said.” Ms. Potts sounds…disgruntled. Not nearly as elated as a fired employee should sound after catching a several million dollar mistake made by her former employer.

“How much is the Stark Industries severance package worth these days?” he asks as he makes corrections in the margin of the page.

“You’re the boss. Shouldn’t you know that?”

She’s irritated. Still gorgeous though. “I’m the boss. I’ve never been fired,” Tony counters, throwing a grin in for good measure before he hands the papers back to her. “There’s a desk and a computer terminal outside the door where you can make these corrections.”

Ms. Potts doesn’t take the proffered papers, and he has to admire her backbone. “I’m _fired_ , Mr. Stark.” She speaks to him as if he’s simpleminded. Or hungover.

“Wow. You’re a regular pepper pot, as Granny Rhodes would say –”

“Who’s Granny –”

“Not important right now. You _were_ fired. And now I’m hiring you. I have to imagine whatever the severance package is, it’s not enough to live on indefinitely. Especially not with your taste in shoes, Ms. Potts…” Tony takes a moment to admire the stilettos adorning her feet.

She folds her legs to the side of her chair so he has a harder time seeing them. The look on her face assures him she thinks he’s crazy. “I assure you, Mr. Stark, I’m overqualified to work as your secretary.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”

“Mr. Stark, I have two degrees –”

“In what?” Tony leans back in his chair and swivels as far away from the light as possible.

“International Business and Corporate Accounting –”

“Really?” That sounds promising. “You’re right. You’re totally overqualified. Good thing I don’t need another secretary. I have an entire pool of them, in fact.”

“Is that a literal or metaphorical pool?”

“Depends on the day and time.” He grins at the disapproving look on her face. “Ms. Potts, I actually find myself in need of an…executive assistant.”

“If I’m overqualified to be a secretary, then I’m certainly overqualified to fetch your coffee and walk your dogs.”

“Don’t have any dogs. For you I’d be willing to hand over duties that are a bit more…cognitively demanding.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t know where you get your information from, but you’re not as discrete as you think you are. I’m not looking to move up the corporate ladder by spending time on my back.”

“See. _That_ is why I want to hire you. The degrees are helpful, but I’m more interested in your initiative, dedication, honesty, and confidence.” The physical package is nothing to pass over either. Nor was the way Ms. Potts was blushing at his straightforward compliments. “I won’t lie; I’ve got a soft spot for redheaded damsels in distress.” Her chin comes up, the motion as blatant as a line in the sand. “You don’t take no for an answer and you’re already been good for business.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Hungover, actually. The position pays at least…three times what you were making and has much better benefits, I’m sure. It also comes with twice the workload, but it can’t be all puppy dogs and rainbows. Do you need time? I hear some women need time to make up their minds –”

“What are the responsibilities?”

Satisfied that he’s going to get the answer he wants, Tony shrugs. “Don’t know yet. Since you refuse to get my coffee I’ll have to come up with something else.”

Ms. Potts stares him down, obviously trying to decide whether or not he’s worth the risk.

“Four times the salary and nothing’s official until I see a job description.” She grabs the papers off his desk. “I’ll review these changes and make the necessary corrections so that you can draft one.”

The next day, as Pepper – she has freckles, a fiery attitude, and enough spunk to keep up with him – straightens up the blizzard of paperwork her predecessor had left behind in her office while Tony gets back to work.

 

+

 

The trouble starts two months after she’s hired. Virginia “Pepper” Potts loses her boss.

It’s exactly as impossible as it sounds. Tony Stark goes nowhere without a posse; posses are noisy, and don’t exactly disappear into a crowd. She herself keeps his schedule tracked in fifteen minute blocks, and even if she didn’t, not a day has passed since Mr. Stark hired her that he hasn’t interrupted her at least five times a day for…inconsequentials.

Pepper suspects he enjoyed having someone – an actual living, breathing person – in his life that doesn’t fawn over him. Even Mr. Stane can be ingratiating when there’s something he wants from Tony.

Two months isn’t a long time, but considering how closely they’ve worked, how many hours she’s put in, she’s learned a few things about her erstwhile employer/charge. While he is as spoiled and entitled as she expected him to be (only child, older parents, filthy rich, insanely intelligent…physically gorgeous), he’s also more than expensive hair gel and swagger. He’s capable of being very…sweet. Like a prepubescent boy with a slightly inappropriate crush on his teacher.

Pepper is surprised by how much she actually enjoys her new profession. Now that she’s got the basic ropes of the job down, she can start tailoring it to fit into the idiosyncrasies of her employer.

If she could only _find_ him.

Because she doesn’t know what else to do, Pepper calls Mr. Stane. She hates asking for his help because he’s only now stopped looking at her as if she’s a momentary distraction for Tony. It flusters her, because Mr. Stane kinda reminds her of her mother’s oldest brother; the need for approval is instinctive and completely inappropriate in this setting.

Obadiah tells her to be patient (which she is, she hasn’t filed a missing persons report yet), that this coming weekend is particularly rough because it marked ten years since Tony’s parents had died (which she knows because she’s finally caught up on forty years’ worth of press clippings), and that Tony will surface when he wants to be found.

He tells her to relax and enjoy her time off.

And he’s serious.

Tony is incommunicado, he left behind his chauffeur/bodyguard, and he didn’t even leave her a note about where he was going.

She’s not going to “relax.”

Pepper drives home with a briefcase full of work and Tony’s schedule book front and center. She might as well start rescheduling his appointments for Monday and Tuesday on the assumption that he’ll be in no state to work in a corporate setting. She’s halfway home when she drives past a salon that she would normally dismiss as too expensive.

Not today.

Pepper leaves the salon with a new A-line bob colored a rich auburn with garnet highlights, and a cleared schedule thanks to her BlackBerry. Feeling marginally more in control, she continues home and calmly finishes her work.

Tony calls her two days later and tells him to come get him.

Actually, his exact words are, “Get down here and bring bail money with you. Get my car out of the impound first.”

Considering he’s in a Tijuana drunk tank, his concern for his vehicle is legitimate. He took the Shelby and the Cobra is an original.

Pepper is… _not_ …happy. She gathers the necessary money, a few changes of clothing, and Mr. Hogan. She’s already arranged for the Shelby to be shipped home once she pays the fine for illegally parking in the middle of a major thoroughfare.

All too soon she’s facing down her boss, who looks like he’s been dragged through several back alleys before being left to sweat out what ails him in a cell that is in severe need of an AC unit.

Tony doesn’t look at her. He has an arm thrown over his eyes and he’s lying down facing away from her.

“Potts. Tell me you brought some Advil and soda crackers with you.” When she doesn’t answer he forces himself into a seated position. “You smell great, Potts. Better than anything else in here.”

He’s pale, looking more wrung out than she’s ever seen him – considering he’d been suffering from a hangover when he’d hired her, she feels like she has some experience judging his physical status on the Stark Drunk-O-Meter. He’s pale, which emphasizes the dark circles under his eyes, and his face is covered in sweat. He’s rumpled, disheveled, and empty of his usual sparkling energy. Not only does he look like hell, but he seems disconnected from the space around him, including her.

It’s not an observation she can make, especially to Tony. In spite of how close it feels they’ve come, they don’t relate to each other…openly. They are far more oblique than that.

Keeping that in mind, Pepper keeps her gaze on him level and as merciless as she can. “Tijuana? Really? Isn’t that a little cliché? You didn’t ask the bartender to leave the ice out of your drinks, did you? I’ll assume you didn’t drink the water, if only because it wasn’t alcoholic.”

Her boss stares at her for several moments before he starts to laugh weakly. Some of the numbness she’d perceived starts to dissipate, like he’s reintegrating into his surroundings.

“I had other things on my mind,” he agrees. “Next time I’ll try to be more original.”

She gets him back across the border as far north as San Diego before Tony pleads for mercy. Something about being motion sick. Pepper checks them into a hotel that has a drug store around the corner and gets him settled in wordlessly.

Tony is the one to break the silence (he normally is) once he swallows a handful of pills that Pepper’s gathered to cure what ails him.

“You must think your boss is pretty stupid, huh?”

Pepper keeps herself from responding visibly, and has long since learned how to keep her voice modulated when he tests her. “I think…my boss needs a shower.” She can see he both expects something from her and dreads hearing it.

As worried as she’d been about what he was getting up to out of her supervision, Pepper can’t bring herself to start in on him when he seems so frail. See, her parents are gone too. Long gone. Her grandmother had wrestled custody away from them when Pepper had been a toddler. As much as Grams had loved her, there was still a hollow in her that was meant to be filled with a parent’s love.

It’s something else she can’t say to him. He won’t want her understanding, not now. He hasn’t even admitted to her the reason for his South of the Border binge. And he won’t. He’s a male – discussing his feelings isn’t something he does. Ever. And he is a constant source of surprise.

“That’s it? Not even one curse word? If you’re in the mood to pity me, Potts, the hospitality team did turn down the sheets, and –”

“Your suitcase is on your bed. With toiletries. And clean clothes. Will that be everything, Mr. Stark, or would you like a rundown of your most urgent messages?”

“Ahh…” Tony smears a hand across his eyes. “Oh, _god_ , no. That will be all, Ms. Potts.” He pries himself out of his chair. “You’ve got a mean streak. I like it.”

Pepper glances down to hide a smile, then turns to leave.

“Oh, hey, Potts. Did you do something different to your hair or am I still drunk? I like it, so if it turns out I’m still intoxicated, I’m going to need you to figure out what I think you look like, and then change your hair accordingly. That good?”

“Shower. Sleep it off.”

“Yeah. ’Night, honey.”

Pepper stays in the front room of his suite, alternating between answering e-mails and browsing through a few professional websites. She pretends not notice when her boss peeks in on her. She stays long enough to know when he stops moving around in the other room.

 

+

 

Life with Pepper is about focusing on the details and willfully ignoring the big picture. It’s tough. He and Pepper are both Big Picture kind of people. That Pepper seems to share his myopia makes life easier. It keeps them focused on each day, on the tasks that are immediately in front of them. Keeps them from acting on the many moments of…possibility…that crop up far too often to be innocent. Moments he doesn’t have the balls to grasp and she has the wisdom to back away from.

It turns out there are upsides to restraint. The release of tension whenever he goes out is…spectacular. Perhaps not as satisfying as eyesex with Pepper, but certainly enough to leave him self-satisfied and it greatly reduces the chances of trying to work with a passel of red-headed brainiacs underfoot.

Focusing on the details comes with its disadvantages though. One of them being that all the little details he’s noticed about her would fill up a book.

Like back when he’d first hired her she’d changed her hair color and style three or four times a year. Now, over eight years later, she’s down to maybe once a year.

He doesn’t search that little factoid for meaning. Doesn’t _want_ to know the meaning. He’s fine with allowing his observations be nothing more than that. Meaning without purpose is…well, meaningless. He doesn’t need to know that Pepper is a chocolate snob (as already determined, their relationship does not include romance and Pepper prefers to accept apologies in the form of completed paperwork). He doesn’t need to know about her family (he’s never brought his up, so it’s not as if she can reciprocate). He doesn’t need to know what she does outside of work (only needs to know that he doesn’t like it).

What he knows is that Pepper is tough as nails. Pepper is strong enough to fight him over anything, but only does so when she thinks he’s harming himself or the company. Pepper is an absolute cutthroat; there is nothing that can stand in her way once her mind is set. Pepper has an incredible ability to motivate others; he knows video game designers that have programmed zombie hordes after Pepper’s army of minions.

Maybe Tony isn’t intentionally channeling Pepper when he starts drafting the plans for the Jericho missile, but she’s there. The most direct, forceful, intense facets of her personality laid out on sheet after sheet of blueprints.

 

+

 

Pepper does not like Tony’s plan (if that’s what you want to call it) to travel into an active war zone to demonstrate (i.e. – show off) his latest miracle of destruction. She doesn’t understand their enthusiasm – Tony’s, Obadiah’s, and even Rhodey’s, on whom she normally relies on to help rein Tony in when he’s being unreasonable – for the personal appearance.

It must have something to do with boys and their unrelenting fondness for explosions. Of any kind. She remembers the boys in the neighborhood where she grew up being just as excited over bottle rockets and cherry bombs.

It’s all fun and games, after all, until someone loses a few fingers. Maybe a hand.

_She_ (Tony’s offer to accompany him overseas not withstanding) has other plans for her birthday. Better plans. Plans involving manicures, pedicures, massages, facials, exfoliation, and seaweed wraps. All of those ridiculously trendy spa treatments.

And what the heck – her birthday only comes once a year, and she’ll only live once. So she responds to Tony’s flirting with more enthusiasm than usual. He deserves to get something for all the money she spent on herself.

She sees Tony off, then takes off herself for an ultra-exclusive resort (because that’s what you get when you drop Tony Stark’s name) high up in the Santa Monica mountains. There’s a profusion of vineyards, a lack of cell service, and endless vistas. Pepper feels the tension melt away from body the moment she checks in.

Pepper, being Pepper, can’t remain off the radar completely. She leaves an emergency contact number with the office. She stressed that she was to be interrupted only by Mr. Stark, and only then if no one could convince him to wait until she returns from her mini-vacation.

Rhodes is the one that makes it past her personnel firewall.

She has never experienced the kind of still, peaceful clarity that falls over her like a down comforter as he explains what’s happened to their convoy in general and possibly (probably) to Tony in specific. Common sense warns her that this is shock, but as it doesn’t seem to disrupt the order of her thoughts, she does not try to cast if off.

It keeps her eyes dry as she drives back to town, going directly to the office. Obadiah received the news hours before she did. He is as discomposed as she’s ever seen him. He looks at her as he paces and spouts reassuring platitudes. It feels a little as if she’s watching a play; she blames it on her sense of disassociation. His distress must be genuine. After all, Obadiah has known Tony for just about all of the younger man’s life.

Despite that, Pepper suspects she knows Tony better. She’s never bought into his larger than life persona. The surprise is not that this happened to Tony of all people, but that it took so long to happen.

The unreality of it all fades after… Well, it fades. Her sense of calm remains through. It freaks Rhodes out. She’s not sure why. Working for Tony has trained her how to view disaster stoically, even calmly. She knows how to take one day at a time, how to do as much of Tony’s work on her own as she can (which is quite a bit), how to best function in her boss’s absence… It’s not all that different than working when Tony is stateside but unreachable.

It’s not until she knows he’s been found that Pepper’s serenity cracks. It’s not until she knows he’s going to be alright that Pepper can face the possibility that he could have gotten himself killed. It’s not until she’s on the way to the airport to pick him up that she realizes how much she’s…missed…him.

It’s not until he searches her face and they both open their mouths that Pepper realizes how little has changed.

It’s not until later, after they’ve fought each other, fought _for_ each other, and she has searched his face (and he’s opened his big, fat mouth) that Pepper realizes that _everything_ has changed.

 

+

 

Pepper makes it two weeks into the new paradigm – the Iron Man age – before she flees to a salon. Tony is surprised she holds out that long. He’d spent lazy, stolen moments back in his hell hole imagining what she might look like if he ever got back. Would her hair be longer? Shorter? Lighter? Darker? Curly? Straight?

Spiked?

He’d enjoyed the thought of Pepper with a faux-hawk, too much eye liner, and hundreds of golden brown freckles.

He’d been surprised and confused when he’d come home to the exact same Pepper he’d left behind. Eventually that’d given way to gratitude.

Pepper hadn’t doubted him.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he might be insulted by Pepper getting a haircut _now._

He’s bored, even though he’s in the middle of two needed – but boring – projects. He’s redecorating the upstairs (he did put a large hole through a couple of levels) and modernizing his workshop with imaging technology that’s a hybred born of his – now outdated – holographic units and the HUD tech from his helmet.

Okay, updating his workshop is never boring. What’s boring is Pepper’s insistence that he volunteer input into the upstairs décor when he really…doesn’t _care_. He spends more time in his shop than anywhere else.

He has a thousand different design ideas running through his head (none of which have anything to do with paint samples, floor tiles, or throw pillows) when Pepper walks in with a new hairstyle.

It’s sleek. Austere even. Maybe classical. The words don’t really matter; he probably doesn’t know the right ones anyway. The only directions he ever give his stylist is “make me look hot.” But he knows what he likes, and while he misses the vibrancy of her former color, he _likes_ the way the new cut highlights the swoop of her jaw and the height of her cheekbones. He likes it enough to admit that going from a carrot top to a ginger adds warm tones to her previously milky complexion.

Then there’s the striations of color, like exposed limestone, or a tiger’s eye stone. Or those liquid density experiments children do with different types of fluid.

It makes Pepper look…commanding. Even less like someone to be messed with.

He wants to do just that, of course, starting with her hair. It looks so soft. He wants to touch it – not exactly a new urge. Since they both swerved away during their game of rooftop chicken he’s felt an increasingly strong need to touch her whenever possible.

Besides, he knows how good her hair smells after she’s been to see her stylist.

Some of his ardor cools when he notices the sample book under her arm.

“No. I told you, Potts, I’m delegating all the Martha Stewart touches to you –”

“And I made them. And then you told me it was too feminine and that I should consult you before I did irreparable harm to your ‘Swingin’ Bachelor Pad.’” She drops the book on his desk. Loudly.

It knocks papers off his desk.

Of course, she probably put them there.

“In my defense, it is a weight room and not a yoga studio.”

“It was just an undyed linen wallpaper –”

“Not interested.”

“I’m aware.” Pepper’s voice is dry. “And yet, you don’t like the drywall either. Pick something.”

“Italian marble.”

“Last week that was pretentious.” She looks unimpressed.

“Gold leaf.”

“Too Trump Towers, unless you’ve changed your mind on that since last week too.”

“Mirrors.”

“No.”

“Just ‘no?’ You don’t have a reason for that one?” Tony idly flips through the sample book. He glances up when she doesn’t answer. The look on her face is perfectly bland.

His lips quirk.

Wood samples. A hundred different grains, stains, and trendy names. He ignores the names and focuses on the grains and stains. He likes wood, likes the gentle, meandering linear patterns left by the cycles of growth and rest.

Why hadn’t Pepper thought of this sooner?

Tony chooses three or four different panels (he’s drawn to all of them and sees no need to use just one when he likes a multitude) and tells Pepper to make it work.

Weeks later, when the weight room is fully complete, and they’re doing a walk through… Well, not really a walk through. He’s fiddling with the weights and flexing for Pepper’s benefit, while she’s across the room on her phone ignoring him. Mostly ignoring him. She does glance over occasionally, sometimes even allowing her gaze to linger.

It’s during one of the times that she’s not paying attention – actually not paying attention, not pretending not to – that Tony takes his own gander.

Pepper looks…amazing. She’s irritated with whoever it is she’s speaking with, which brings a rosy glow to her cheeks and a spark to her eyes. His ego suggests maybe all his flexing has something to do with the glow and the spark, but he knows her better than that. Pepper’s a sucker for a good business challenge.

Part of him – a small part – thinks he should have promoted the hell out of her years ago. He understands that she’s capable of doing so much more than what she does for him. The rest of him figures he just needs to find more for her to do.

She looks like a million bucks though, or like she works for an incredibly generous billionaire industrialist. (Goes without saying.) She’s a class act from the tips of her very pointy shoes to the silky fall of her pony tail.

He never notices that the walls around them match her hair perfectly.

It won’t be the last thing he fails to notice when it comes to Pepper Potts.


End file.
